


The way things end

by M_Moonshade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:31:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did you really think you could keep bringing him back forever?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The way things end

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago, but it's not particularly tied to any event in canon.

When Death strolls down that long hall, his polished shoes clicking against the tile, he is not surprised by what he finds at the other end.

Dean Winchester lays curled as though in sleep, his eyes shut, his too-pale skin wiped clean of sweat and blood by the angel who holds him. Castiel cradles him, a mirror of Michelangelo’s Pietà. The pose should look ridiculous, the angel dwarfed by the man in his arms, but Death cannot bring himself to laugh.

Castiel’s wings arch protectively over the body, but there is no desperation left in the angel’s eyes. He hears Death approach, but he does not move, except to stroke a thumb over the fallen man’s jaw.

Death pauses in his advance. “Did you really think you could keep bringing him back forever?”

Castiel’s wings tighten around his charge, bracing for a blow. His blade is hidden up his sleeve, but he does not reach for it. There is surprise in his eyes.

“Who did you think would do it?” Death asks. “Tessa? You would kill her on sight.”

Castiel’s gaze rises to meet him, a wordless affirmation.

“Besides. This boy has evaded me long enough. I think that absurd bravado deserves to acknowledged, don’t you?”

There is no higher honor than this. And though Death will never say as much, the foolish boy has done much to deserve that honor. Few others could face Heaven and Hell and Purgatory and stand victorious. Few others would be so stupid.

“Please.” Castiel’s voice is hoarse and broken. “Don’t take him from me.”

“His time has long since come.” But when he sees that look in the angel’s eyes, his voice softens. “The boy is tired. He has been for far too long. Let him rest, Castiel.”

He is Death. He has not felt pity or mercy since the first Great Stars passed into dust. But he has seen this angel—this would-be God—in all his arrogance. That pride is long gone, scrubbed away by the hands of this little human boy. The thing before him now is humble, contrite, in a way no angel has been before.

Castiel relaxes his wings, the feathers falling like a blanket around the Righteous Man’s body—but even Grace can’t revive him anymore.

“Then let me go with him.” Castiel bows his head, as though in prayer. “I’ve escaped you enough times. Let me come, too.”

Death lowers his head. “There is nothing left to save him from.”

“I know.”

“There will be no bringing him back this time.”

His voice is barely audible. “I know.”

With genuine curiosity: “Then why?”

Castiel looks down again, memorizing the human’s face. “An artificial paradise won’t suit him. He’ll want something real to hold onto.” When he raises his gaze back to Death, there is a spark of humor to the tilt of his head. “Otherwise he’ll just find a way to break out again.”

“Yes. I suppose he will.”

Castiel reaches out to touch him, and Death cannot deny a twinge of fondness as he takes the angel’s hand.

 


End file.
